


Moronsexual

by Reioka



Series: Pride Pockets [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Demisexual Character, Demisexuality, F/M, pride fic, pride month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 20:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reioka/pseuds/Reioka
Summary: Natasha has never felt sexual attraction before. At least, not until Clint.





	Moronsexual

Moronsexual

 

It happened, to Natasha’s dismay, after she got partnered with Clint.

 

“Why is your entire recent internet search history a bunch of Google searches saying ‘Is it possible to be exclusively sexually attracted to idiots’ and ‘is “moron” a type?’” Clint asked. “Also is there something I should know? Are you okay?”

 

Natasha stared at him, considering, before gracefully back-flipping out the window. She felt that would be easier than explaining ‘I never once felt sexual attraction until three days ago when you took a bullet for me and I realized I trusted you and wanted to kiss you all over.’

 

She hid out at one of SHIELD’s safe houses for three weeks, trying to figure things out; that was when Maria found her.

 

“Agent Romanova,” she said solemnly.

 

Natasha did not look away from the cork board she was carefully pinning a string of red yarn to. “What?”

 

“Why does this look like the lair of a serial killer and not a SHIELD safe house,” Maria asked.

 

“First of all, not only serial killers do this. Conspiracy theorists do this too,” Natasha retorted defensively. “And! I’m pretty sure I’ve had a mental break so this is totally normal for that!”

 

Maria looked at the cork board, specifically at the picture of Clint drinking coffee straight from the pot labeled ‘moronsexual?????’ She looked back at Natasha. “I’m sensing that something is going on here.”

 

“I have never experienced sexual attraction,” Natasha told her, and decided it was also because of her mental break and she might be dying, not because she was confused by it and secretly desired help figuring it out. “Until Clint took a bullet for me. And then I had a passing thought that I might fuck him. I’ve been compromised. I need a new partner. I might even need to leave SHIELD entirely.”

 

Maria stared at her, looking just a smidgen bewildered. Finally, she said, “Oh, right, you’re from Russia.”

 

Natasha stopped what she was doing so she could turn to stare at her with all the ‘what the fuck’ she could muster.

 

“Russia doesn’t really acknowledge sexuality beyond ‘straight’ there, do they,” Maria added, mostly to herself. She clapped her hands together. “Well! Check your email because I’ll be mailing you some websites to check out while I’m rewriting SHIELD’s protocols for debriefing agents coming in from other countries!”

 

“What,” Natasha said, but Maria was already turning on her heel and leaving, muttering about how she didn’t get paid enough for this shit and Fury better give her a bonus for all the extra work this was causing her.

 

The websites Maria sent her made her uncomfortable. Natasha had known, logically, that heterosexuality wasn’t the only sexuality, but Russia had never been welcoming of exploring others, so she’d mostly just ignored those things, especially because they’d never impacted her missions; her lack of attraction to her marks had been considered a boon, honestly. She closed her burner laptop and didn’t touch it again for three days.

 

 _You okay?_  Clint texted her on her burner phone, and she reluctantly opened her laptop again, if only so she’d be able to tell Clint yes or no.

 

There were so many words, and Natasha was so overwhelmed. If it had been for a mission, she could have done this easily, but it wasn’t, it was about her, it was about how she felt and what she did with it, and it was confusing and scary and it hurt to feel that way when the confusion and fear of defecting to SHIELD hadn’t been nearly as bad. She felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t know what to do.

 

“You okay?” Clint asked again when he opened the door to her, hugging herself and trembling a little. “Nat? You okay?”

 

“I’m—I think I’m demisexual,” Natasha admitted, and had to swallow the urge not to vomit.

 

“…Okay,” Clint said, and opened the door wider for her to come in.

 

Natasha stared at him. “You’re not—you don’t care? You’re not mad? You’re not disgusted?”

 

Clint stared at her. “Why would I be?”

 

“Because I’m not—I’m not—” Natasha began, trying to find words and failing. Heterosexual? Normal? Unbroken? She didn’t know.

 

“I can’t say I totally understand, but I also don’t care who you sleep with, as long as you’re safe and it’s consensual,” Clint said, gently reaching out to grab her wrist.

 

Natasha let herself be towed inside, shell-shocked, and allowed Clint to sit her on his couch and give her a cup of really shitty chamomile tea. “Really?” she finally asked, disbelieving.

 

“I can’t say everyone is going to be as welcoming of you, Nat, but again: I don’t care who you sleep with,” Clint said, tapping on his phone to look up what ‘demisexual’ meant. “Not everyone is going to accept that as easily as I am but you said yourself that if I were anymore easy-going I’d be d—Hey, you trust me,” he began, grinning, and lifted his head to look at her. “That means that you might be—” His face fell into a blank mask before he looked outraged. “Wait. WAIT. Were those web searches because of me? I’m not an idiot!”

 

Natasha set her cup of tea down, barely glancing at the cable box that had had all of its wires cut, and launched herself out the window.

 

“I’M NOT AN IDIOT!” Clint bellowed after her. “I JUST ACT LIKE ONE!”

 

Natasha was mortified to realize she liked that about him and wanted to kiss him for that, too.

 

But she couldn’t deny that something was settling in her chest, something soft and comforting, having a word to describe what she felt, having a reason for why she felt it. “Demisexual,” she repeated softly to herself, and couldn’t help the tiniest of smiles.


End file.
